


Hands Held in the Dark

by christchex



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christchex/pseuds/christchex
Summary: Lord Jesse Manes and his armies took down an ancient, powerful city. In the night, his son takes a moment to prove that he is not his father's son.
Relationships: Michael Guerin & Alex Manes
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	Hands Held in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninhursag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Go, Gaze on Fallen Antar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20861342) by [ninhursag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag). 



> A little thing I wrote as another gift/remix for Ninhursag, my partner for the RNM Remix challenge, also just a wonderful person and writer.
> 
> This is a moment from Go, Gaze on Fallen Antar with young Alex and young Michael. There is a lot of violence in the original fic. I don't really go into it in this fic, but it is implied and I wanted people to be warned.

Everywhere he looked, he saw his mother. Memories of her, of their happiness as they ran through the courtyard as they waited for his father to return. He saw where she taught him how to hold a sword and how to strike with his powers. He saw the gates where they would stand and wave to his father and his soldiers as they left for another battle.

He tried not to look at where his mother hung. Her voice echoed off the stone walls. They were impossible to ignore. Even as the night fell, her screams continued and it was the only proof Michael had that his mother was still there.

He refused to make a noise. He refused to show how scared he was. His mother always said he was so brave. He would be brave for her.

“Here,” a voice whispered. Chained as he was, Michael couldn’t see the person until a hand, just as strong and just as callased as his, held out a cup. “It’s water,” he prompted when Michael just looked at him.

The hand was attached to Alex Manes, the son of the man who destroyed Michaels life.

“It’s only water,” Alex promised as he moved closer. “I know what he’s like. I know what he does. I can’t give you much, but I can give you this.”

Michael slowly reached out with his changed wrist and grabbed the cup. He was weak already, the fight had exhausted him beyond reason. Alex helped him bring the cup to his lips. He took slow sips, careful not to waste any water.

Michael let Alex take the cup once it was empty.

“You can’t know what it’s like,” Michael said, voice hoarse for thirst still and from disuse.

“No,” Alex agreed. He hadn’t moved from his spot, not once Michael had taken the cup and not once he was finished with it. Alex gently took Michael’s left hand and held it between his own. “I can’t know, but I can still be there for you.”

Michael let his gaze linger on Alex Manes. His face betrayed his history of bruises, even with the golden tone of his skin. They were not new, they were old and they lingered. They were not obtained in battle, not that kind of battle anyway.

Michael moved so that his fingers were holding Alex’s too, rather than his hand being cradled. Alex’s eyes were sad as he smiled, soft and small, at the gesture. The warmth of Alex at his side helped keep the cold night from penetrating his skin. Alex’s hand in his gave in the only comfort he’d known for days. It was caring, kind, and delicate. It declared what kind of man Alex would become.

Michael never wanted to let go of that hand.


End file.
